Rivalry
by MarionArnold
Summary: Two snipers living together - there is always going to be a question that needs answering. Who is the best shot? This one-shot drabble, post The Tourist, goes some way to resolving the question.


This little post The Tourist drabble came about because thereadersmuse flooded my tumblr dash with Gimli and Legolas gif sets such that the last line directed the entire plot.

Rivalry

She took a deep breath in, focussed and released. There was a slight pop, a recoil and several hundred metres away the man's head exploded.

"Fifteen" she said in satisfaction, retracting back the hammer and removing the spent cartridge. _Two more._

There was a spray of blood in her peripheral vision and another man dropped suddenly.

"Eighteen," said the voice in her ear, the distinct lack of gloating in his tone annoying her more than if he had crowed about his superiority – just as she knew he knew it would.

She swallowed her curse, knowing he would only enjoy it more, reloaded and searched for another target amongst the group they had pinned down.

Their life since Tim had officially joined her at the village had been unexciting, peaceful even. The village had been inclined to be distrustful of him when he had returned,his affairs in order, uncertain as to what had brought a third foreigner into their midst. It had been his easy going nature, acceptance of the rules imposed upon his behaviour by the society (barring any religious observance) plus his genuine attempt to learn the dialect while he built a mud brick hut that had warmed their hearts to him. His request for the elders to marry he and 'Syaf' had caught them by surprise, even though it had been obvious that she was the reason he had returned, and that she welcomed his return. Given that neither of them were willing to sign any pieces of paper, their union was more a tribal ritual than a religious one, comprising slaughtering of many goats, the cooking of a mountain of food to be consumed after a short ceremony before a night of dancing. There was no question of his acceptance after that.

Every day they would rise at dawn and he would help her with the mundane chores around the stable, go for his first run while she was out exercising the horses and breakfast with her before she would leave to operate Mack's business. He would spend his day caring for their growing goat herd or experimenting with different herbs and spices in their milk and cheese, bartering these with the other villagers or neighbouring villagers for their daily supplies. He had dabbled in photography but found that he liked sketching more and had sent in a few with Mack to the regional markets where tourists had snapped them up for a disproportionate amount of money – some of which went into the purchase of non-daily supplies and the rest buying in educational supplies for the small school in the village. They would run together at dusk, sometimes taking the guns out for some target practice, and their evening meals were as often as not a communal affair with Samira and her father or with their other neighbours as by themselves.

The arrival of Islamic State representatives in the village had been an unwelcome dose of reality, but they had stood to the side and allowed the village elders to make their own decision. It was only after the IS had been told to remove themselves and told never to return that things underwent a radical turn. One of the representatives grabbed hold of one of the young boys who had ventured too close and held a knife to his throat. Marion's bullet had hit him in the 'apricot' and Tim's had taken the other man's hand off, dropping the automatic weapon in the dust. It had been from him that the elders had learnt the location of the rally point for the successful recruits and while some of the villagers had been clamouring to take some direct action and some of them had been preaching caution, Tim and Marion had grabbed Thowra and Yarraman and headed out into the desert.

The IS had not been expecting resistance quite in the form that it arrived and had placed themselves in the head of a valley with the lookout focusing on the ground for oncoming traffic. It had taken them more than three hours to find a perch each, clambering over the rocks under the light of a quarter moon with the horses tied up next to a small pool of water. As dawn had approached they had dropped the lookout, then his replacement, then one who had gotten up to relieve himself and so on until after about fifteen bodies the alarm had been raised. It had taken IS three more bodies to realise that the attack was coming from the ridgeline above them, two more to realise that it was coming from both ridgelines above them and four more until every man had cover of some type. The last couple of hours had been slower but tense, picking off of the unwary - whether it be head, arm or foot breaking cover, balancing the damage that could be done with the risk of being found out. Tim had taken out the radio earlier so they knew reinforcements weren't being called for, however the IS had been waiting for someone originally and every hour brought that arrival closer. The sun was getting hot and she was running low on water – plus she was feeling the need to relieve herself, something years before she would have had no qualms of doing so but which now really didn't appeal to her. At some stage they were going to have to disengage and be satisfied with having given IS a bloody nose.

_After three more _she thought.

"Something's up," said Tim in a half voice.

Marion moved her scope, slowly so as not to give away her position to those who were scouring the rock faces for signs of the snipers. The three trucks had been manoeuvred in a tight formation, at the cost of several IS personnel, about an hour ago and there had been consistent if slow movement of personnel to the relative safe zone where the canopies of the trucks restricted their vision.

"You see what they had in those trucks?" she breathed.

"I am guessing not dictionaries," came the dry reply.

She grinned, scanning over the group in search of clues to what was going on. There was a sudden flash of cloth and a figure broke cover, running for some rocks about ten metres away.

Even as she squeezed the trigger she knew she had been duped.

"RPG" said Tim sharply, any attempt at stealth gone from his voice.

Marion cursed and scrambled to her feet. Her options were limited: she could hunker down and hope they missed or had her wrongly sighted, she could run up the hill which would be slow or she could run down the hill – the success of both of the latter options depending on the IS being an accurate shot on her location.

"Left" he instructed and due to their understanding of each other she knew what he meant and turned right as she started down the hill. "Five."

The hill was steep, unstable and she bit off another curse as she slid, landing hard on her hip and one hand in a shower of rocks.

"Four," there was a tenseness in his voice that told her he was watching her progress and she pushed herself back to her feet and started back down the hill again.

There was no time for words, no time to tell him that she loved him, that the short time they had spent together had all but erased the horrors she had endured previously, how they had given her a glimpse of what life could have been like, who she could have been. No time to tell him that of the regrets she had in her life, that not meeting him earlier in life when they could have perhaps made a family together was her biggest one.

"Three."

Her lungs were burning, her body protesting at the intensity of the first real movement in hours. She ignored the sensation - if she got far enough away there would be time to recover.

"Two."

She knew this would all be for nothing if the IS hadn't aimed at her position properly to start with. She might be running closer to her death.

"One."

She dove towards a large boulder which looked like it was seated firmly in the hill. While she may have gotten further by going downhill instead of uphill, she was now at risk of the debris after the RPG hit, maybe even a landslide.

"Zero."

She folded into a ball, holding the scope under her chin to protect it and took a deep breath. The explosion made the ground shake and a burst of hot air enveloped the surroundings, sucking the oxygen from the air and sending a wave of rock fragments and shards flying into the rocks around her. There was a short pause and then more fragments started hitting the ground, returning to earth from where the explosion had propelled them. Some of these were substantial and Marion could feel the thumps as they landed on the ground nearby or the boulder that she sheltered underneath. Some smaller pieces landed on her, one of them hitting her in the small of her back and making her gasp.

"Marion?!"

"Still here," she reassured him, taking a breath and a mental assessment of injuries. _Minor cuts and bruises_, _maybe a strained wrist_. "What's the status?"

"No shot," his frustration was apparent.

Marion grimaced and swung about, seating her weapon in a nick between the rocks in front of her and carefully lifted to aim the scope at the IS position. Her position wasn't nearly as good as her nest with lower and lesser angles, however it did offer a slightly different view – one which the IS had thought was safe. It was only a sliver about thirty centimetres wide, but it was clear and unimpeded – right into the centre of the area the trucks were protecting.

"They have more RPGs," she said, deciphering the part view of men moving and shadows. "Setting up for the next shot." They would have seen her move of course and depending on how many RPG they had they might wait to see whether she survived, or they might just fire off another round to her new position. She could run again of course, but there was a limited life in that strategy.

"Do you have a shot?"

Marion scrunched her nose. "Nothing effective," she decided. She could maybe nick the edge of someone, or if she shot through the canopy she may get lucky but that was it. "They are a metre too far to the left."

"Get ready," he instructed.

_For what?_ she frowned for a moment. Then she realised his intention. "No!"

It was too late though, a swift glance showing Tim's silhouette clearly visible against the skyline, running along the ridge. His action didn't go unnoticed by the IS and she put her anxiety away, channelling her energy through the scope on the sudden flurry of activity between the trucks. Men rushed about through her view but she held her fire, letting them waste their bullets in nervous energy – Tim was far beyond the effective distance of all but one of their weapons.

A figure stepped just into her field of vision, lifting the RPG to his shoulder, a second figure to his left and slightly to the rear also holding a deadly tube – they weren't making the same mistake again. Marion cursed under her breath and shuffled slightly, trying to get a better shot.

Tim cursed in her ear as he tripped and she saw the RPG get adjusted slightly.

_Fuck it_ she decided and stood, stepping to the side a little.

There was an outcry from the trucks as her outline was made out and automatic gunfire was turned in her direction, also futilely. The extra height and step cleared up her shot, the ear of the militant crystallising in her scope, the barrel of the other RPG turning her direction slightly fuzzy in the background. She released her breath and compressed the trigger.

The RPG shot into the air just as the bullet impacted, shattering bone and bursting out in a spray of flesh at reduced velocity – but still with enough speed to hit the elbow of the second militant just as his finger compressed on the trigger. The second RPG ignited and flew straight into the body of one of the trucks. There was an outcry, a flurry of bodies and then an explosion as whatever was in the back of the truck reached critical temperature. The truck flew upwards for several metres, briefly exposing the group of men still trying to distance themselves then came down and there was a second explosion as the fuel tank ignited. The second truck exploded and a millisecond later the third truck erupted, a number of other ignitions following as the ammunitions and fuel loads of the vehicles caught alight.

A plume of black smoke billowed from the crater from which nothing would come out alive, blocking her view as she heard the RPG hit the other side of the valley.

"Tim! Tim!" she called.

Nothing.

"Tim!" she almost screamed, starting to make her way down the hill. If the RPG had hit him there would be nothing she could do, even if he had just been hit by rocks he might be dead before she could get him, even if he was still alive when she got to him she wouldn't be able to get him to medical attention by herself and the rest of the IS would probably finish them off. _She would make them work for it though_.

His voice sounded in her ear and she subsided onto a rock, relief flooding her being and then grinned at his words.

"That still only counts as one."


End file.
